


On Wine & Slow Dancing

by thegrassisgreener



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon John/Mary, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I tomfool you with the humor and then there's just A N G S T, John & Mary wedding (mentioned), John Watson Does Not Know How to Dance, M/M, Mary Morstan and John Watson's Wedding, Mutual Pining, Second Thoughts, Set right before TSOT, Sherlock Holmes Teaches John Watson to Dance, Slow Dancing, Some Humor, Wine, a lot of wine, just a lot of hurt, just read the description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29567274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrassisgreener/pseuds/thegrassisgreener
Summary: Sherlock Holmes teaches his best pal, loyal companion, and crime-solving partner, John Watson, how to dance.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 14





	On Wine & Slow Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my beautiful babies!   
> I hope you all are doing well. I am once again feeding you with some good ol' fashion gays and angst, you can leave your appreciation in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments. Yes, yes, you're welcome.   
> In all seriousness, I hope you guys like this little piece I wrote a while ago that I just recently edited to post for y'all. I'm hoping to get some more stuff up pretty soon but you never know with my constant shifts between creative blocks and frenzies of writing.   
> Angst. Just angst. If the tags didn't make it clear, this fic is quite angsty. If you came here for some JohnLock with a happy ending, you'll be glad to know you're in the wrong place. I have another good JohnLock fic that has exactly that if you're interested, but you will not find it in this one, so go check that one out if you haven't already.   
> Anyways, enjoy. :))

“Maybe I could just not get hitched.” 

Sherlock laughed at the comment because he knew there was no implication behind it. Words that held no weight, but still managed to weigh heavily on his chest as John continued. 

“I could just live here,” John said with a sigh. “Stop answering Mary’s texts and hide away in 221B until she moves on. Continue solving crimes, continue being single.” 

Sherlock laughed again, but it was more bitter. “I was under the impression that we’d continue to work on cases together even after you’re married.”

John shrugged from where he was splayed out over the couch and looked over at Sherlock. “Of course, but that’s not what I mean. It'll be different, you know? When Mary and I put on those rings. You and I will still do our thing, but I’ll have my job at the clinic-- oh, and we want kids, of course-- so-”

“John,” Sherlock groaned. “I know, I know.” 

It was John’s turn to laugh this time. “Yeah, it’s just… I don’t know, I feel like I’m having second thoughts-- but I still want to marry her, of course-- it’s just that I feel… Well, I don’t know how I feel exactly.” 

Sherlock leaned his head back over his chair. “That’s normal, or so I’ve heard at least. It’s called getting cold feet.”

“I’m not getting cold feet,” said John suddenly, sitting up. 

Sherlock met his eyes, they were a bit worried. “No, of course not, but it’s not uncommon for both grooms and brides to feel nervous and question things before their wedding. When you get up on that stage in front of everyone and see your future wife walk down the aisle, everything will fall into place. Stop worrying.” John blinked owlishly at him. “Everything will be just fine.” 

The doctor tried to chuckle but it came out a little dry. “I could really use some wine right now.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and touched his fingertips together under his chin. “There’s some in the cabinet where we keep the grains and rice.”

John laughed and stood up from the couch, stumbling slightly over to the kitchen. Sherlock found the clock and noted the time: 12:37 PM. It was already getting quite late. 

“Your wedding’s a week away,” Sherlock mumbled, not really sure if he was saying it more to John or himself. Either way, John said nothing back. 

His companion came back with the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, with the bottle-opener hanging from his middle finger. They popped the cork, pouring a generous glass for each of them and clinking them together to hear the sound of glass ripple throughout the air. 

“To new beginnings,” John said with a smile, raising his wine. “And to old traditions.”

Sherlock couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his own face. “May we hold them dear.” 

An hour later, the wine bottle was nearly empty and the room was full of laughter. 

“What do you mean Lestrade  _ swallowed a cigarette _ ?!” John bellowed.

Sherlock could barely manage to speak through his hiccups, caused half from the conversation and half from the alcohol. “I didn’t say he  _ swallowed it,  _ I said he  _ almost  _ did.”

“But  _ how _ ?” 

“I was just getting to that: After Andersson had led me into the living room of the Liamsons’ flat, I realized almost immediately that there was a very pungent burnt caramel smell in the room. Andersson and the rest of the useless Scotland Yard had insisted it was most likely caused by some sort of lighter fluid, nitroglycerin or such, that is commonly known to emit such an odor,” Sherlock explained calmly. “Andersson believed somewhere in his absolutely idiotic brain that the killer of the family must have tried to set the place on fire but was interrupted and fled the scene before he could manage, presumably through the window that had a fire escape connected through it that was open when they had found the flat.”

“But it wasn’t?” John asked with a quizzical look. 

“Indeed! I recognized immediately that the scent was not that of any traditionally flammable substance, much too sweet and, well,  _ burnt  _ smelling. Additionally, if it were lighter fluid that had been spread around, why in Christ’s name would it smell burnt if it had never been lit in the first place?! That scent would never have been produced, and as I was examining the area, I found a puddle of some sort of yellow substance.” 

“That wasn’t lighter fluid, I’m guessing,” John raised an eyebrow, “please don’t tell me it was actual caramel.”

“It absolutely was!” Sherlock practically jumped from his seat then adjusted to a crouched position on his chair. “And I could tell that from the moment I pressed my fingers to it and found it to be sticky, yet, just to be sure it was caramel and not some other type of melted treat, I-”

“- _ No _ -”

“-got to my knees and licked it.”

“ _ Sherlock! _ ”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Sherlock waved him off, “I know what you’re going to say, that even if I know what a substance is, I shouldn’t lick mysterious liquids I find on the floor and especially at a crime scene-- but you weren’t there to stop me. I proved my hypothesis in any case, it was indeed burnt caramel.”

“You’re mad, you know.” John leaned back and pressed his finger to the side of his head in amusement. 

Sherlock waved him off again. “Yes, John, you keep saying that-- Unfortunately for me and the people in the general vicinity, Lestrade walked in right as my tongue was pressed against the puddle-- which was right next to one of the corpses, I should add-- and squealed rather loudly. He was about to shout at me when the cigarette he was holding between his teeth fell and almost slipped down his throat.”

John was now doubling-over, laughing as if they didn’t have neighbors who were probably trying to sleep right about now. 

Sherlock laughed and hiccuped. “He was perfectly fine afterward, but I did get quite the scolding from both him and Donovan.”

John wasn’t sure he could physically stop himself from laughing, and then Sherlock joined in and it just got much worse. They weren’t all the way drunk yet, but sober was not the word for the current situation either. 

The doctor wiped his eyes from his tears of joy and attempted to stand up to bring the bottle and their glasses back into the kitchen. Instead, he nearly toppled over only for Sherlock to rush over and catch him by his upper arms. They were still chuckling, John huffing out a “thanks” and finishing the task he’d originally started on. Sherlock followed him into the kitchen and watched him clatter the glasses into their nearly full sink. He smiled at the domesticity of it all. 

John turned to him, trying to calm his breathing and snickers. “If Mary knew I was getting drunk off of wine with you at this hour and probably waking up the whole building, she’d kill me.”

Sherlock’s shoulders moved in something that was supposed to be a shrugging motion, but it was sort of just a little jig of his neck and arms. John was already snickering again. 

His face twisted in emotion. “There’s still so much I have to do-- We haven’t decided on our wedding cake flavor-- or her bridesmaid dresses, or all the decorations-- Not to mention I don’t even know how to dance--” 

Sherlock pressed a long finger to John’s mouth. “Shush, please, John. We’ll figure it out when we’re sober, there’s still plenty of time.”

Neither of them was sure what exactly the “it” or the “we” meant in that statement, but John nodded nonetheless and pulled Sherlock’s finger from his mouth. 

“Still, I worry-- I can’t help it--”

And somewhere in Sherlock’s very tipsy brain, he thought it would be a good idea to say, “I’ll teach you how to dance, John.”

John blinked at him. “What?”

“Well, we can’t do everything at once, but I can show you how to dance. It’s about the only thing I think we could manage in this state.”

John sort of laughed again, as if he was prepared for Sherlock to confess that he was just joking, but it fell short when Sherlock simply stared at him. 

“Really?” John asked, a little unsure of himself. 

Sherlock nodded and attempted another shrug. “Why not?”

John said nothing so Sherlock walked over to the table in the living room, picked up his phone, and tapped something to turn on a simple, slow melody. It was almost melancholic with a simple piano in the beginning, then the guitar strumming came in and the notes that swirled around them were beautiful and alluring. Sherlock held out his hand, trying to straighten up as much as he could. 

“John Watson, may I have this dance?” The detective’s eyes twinkled and he gave a sly smile. 

John’s own smile bloomed bright and he waltzed over to take Sherlock’s hand. In a swift movement, Sherlock drew him to his chest and placed John’s hand on his shoulder. He took the other in one of his hands while using his other to grip John’s waist. John flushed. 

“You’re leading?” He said, but what he wanted to say was,  _ Wow, this is close.  _

Sherlock hummed. “You just told me that you don’t know how to dance yet you want to lead? I don’t think so, let me show you what to do so when you’re up there with Mary, you don’t make a wreck of yourself.”

“You’re so encouraging, Sherlock,” John said with a touch of sarcasm that made Sherlock give him a sour look. 

“Just follow my lead,” Sherlock said back. 

With the next beat, Sherlock twisted them around and moved his feet in slow steady steps which John tried to follow, doing better than he thought he would considering that he’s never properly danced before and that his veins were thrumming with the buzz of too much wine. 

Sherlock shifted them so they were closer and changed his footsteps up. “It goes in a beat: one and two and three, and one and two and three. This one is slower, but for the faster songs the beat will be: one, two, three. I’ll show you when we get to a song like that.” 

John was still stumbling, Sherlock continued. “You move your feet one at a time, to the side then forward, then to the side then backward, and along that idea in whatever way you’d like to go. In general, you’ll want to move in something of a circle around the room.”

Sherlock kept rambling off various instructions and, slowly, John started understanding them. His feet moved in less of a confused rush and more of a somewhat sure pattern with a rhythm. Sherlock swung him all around the room, even teaching him how to swing out and back in. 

“One final move, and this one’s the special one so remember it carefully,” John nodded at the words. “At the end of the song after the final set-- the one two three-- you can do this…”

The song playing came to a slow close and Sherlock carefully placed his hands at the small of John’s back and between his shoulder blades, twisted their bodies, and dipped him. 

John felt like his face was burning up and that he was about to fall, but he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and curled his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, and suddenly they were holding perfectly still, frozen in midair, in a dramatic dip that had their noses nearly touching. 

A second or maybe two ticked by as John looked up into Sherlock’s bright, shimmering eyes and saw everything he ever wanted and could ever want swirling in their effervescent depths. The breath was stolen from his lungs, and then Sherlock was twirling him again and he was standing in the low light of the living room at 221B Baker Street and wondering why the hell he was about to let all of this go. 

He couldn’t think of anything except the places where Sherlock’s hands were gripping his shirt and shoulder as if they were afraid to let go. John closed the small gap between them and kissed him.

It wasn’t pretty. Their teeth clacked and their lips smashed together and their noses pressed into each other’s cheeks. John’s hands intertwined completely in Sherlock’s hair, pressing him closer until their chests were flat against one another. 

John kissed and kissed and kissed the breath from him until Sherlock’s hands could move again and they held him closer, devouring him as if it were his last meal on Earth. John licked into that sweet mouth, exploring Sherlock’s teeth, tongue, and corners of his mouth. He found comfort in the skin he could touch with his fingertips, in the saliva that dripped from the corner of Sherlock’s mouth as they pulled back and came together, in their huffed breaths and desperate gasps. 

Then Sherlock pulled away, retreating his hands from where they had found home on John’s body. His eyes were searching, confusion and drizzled madness seeping through his gaze and into every shadow in the room. John was shaking, hands still trying to pull a body that wasn’t there anymore closer to him once again. He didn’t know what to do. Every regret, every thought, every realization passing him by in a blur as he looked up at Sherlock and said the only thing he could think to say,

“You’re a good kisser.”

Sherlock stared unblinking at him. His hair was sticking up at odd angles and his lips were rosy and red, well kissed and parted. 

John forced a sleepy smile. “I’m gonna sleep here in my old bed here tonight, if you don’t mind. I don’t think it’d be a good idea to get a cab at this hour.”

Sherlock nodded, still not smiling, still not blinking. John turned and gave a quick “goodnight” before heading up the stairs. 

In the morning, John found a note on the table next to a cup of coffee that read:  **_Lestrade called, new case that’s at least an 8, possibly higher. Meet me at this address at 1 if convenient, and if inconvenient, come anyway. - SH_ ** An address to somewhere near the center of London sat below it. John smiled, still feeling a little wobbly, but not from his hangover. 

John knew, even if he wasn’t thinking about it at the time, that he couldn’t tell Mary about what had happened. If they were friends, and they had just kissed because they were so drunk that they’d just done it, maybe he could’ve told her and laughed with her about it. But the kiss was a bit too long, had a bit too much tongue, and was a bit too not-exactly-platonic for that. So he tucked the note in his pocket, sucked down his coffee, and headed out into the daylight. 

After all, maybe it was better to forget that which was better left unspoken. 

**Author's Note:**

> If this made you cry or carved a hole in your heart, I'm dreadfully sorry. Go read that other fic I mentioned to make you feel better (if you want to). :)  
> Drink someone water, eat something if you haven't in more than a few hours, take a nap, water a plant, spend some time off of a screen, take care of yourself.   
> Forehead kisses for all y'all.   
> Much love and peace. <33


End file.
